Marco Polo, Vampire Hunter Part 2
by jdbeecham
Summary: Just how far can Marco trust his dad, who has appeared out of nowhere into his life?


Turns out, Niccolo and his brother Maffeo, who had gone on south to Rome, had made a fortune in Constantinople. The Venetians had help invade the city some years in the past and were part of the occupying forces there. But when the native people had rose up and thrown the allied forces out, Niccolo and Maffeo had gone north, to Russia, and then on East where they met the Kublai Khan; the ruler of the Golden Horde.

"It's the largest empire the world has ever known, and the largest that will ever be," said Niccolo. "The wealth there is astonishing; the natural beauty sublime; and the women—" he looked at Marco and winked. "Will make you toss in your dreams."

"Niccolo!" Giani screeched. "I don't think you have any place even taking this boy. I've said it once, and I'll say it again. You will led this boy astray. They need structure and discipline, boys do, and here you come like the pide piper!"

Niccolo sniffed, and with a chuckle to himself he rose from the dinner table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Marco, meet me at Santa Maria Pier at sunrise, the day after they announce the new pope." And with that he was off.

Niccolo would go to Rome for a few weeks, invest his jewels, and wait with Maffeo for a new pope to be named. Everyone knew that it was going to be Berno Natale, the Papal Legate to Egypt, but they had to wait through endless formalities nonetheless. It would all be worth it. Niccolo had been milking Natale for months, offering exotic bribes, just in anticipation of getting the Papal seal.

Because with the Papal Seal would come the oil…

xxx

It was an unusually warm night, as Marco listened for the ringing of the bells in the distance and making preparations in his mind. Beside him he had all his possesions, tucked into a bag inside his briefs. Yesterday, after the announcement (bells clanging in the square; huge smoke signals sent off from city to city across the country, drunkenness everywhere) he secretly pawned the encyclopedias Giani had given him for an ounce of gold, which he kept in his pocket, ready for flight. _This is it. _He sat at his window pane, contemplating his choices. _Now or never. _

On one hand he had aunt Giani, who had given him a stake in the business, responsibility, and the chance for standing in the community. It wasn't too late to buy back those encyclopedias, and after all, she loved Marco so much that he knew it'd break her heart. On the other hand, his father. Reckless, immoral, negligent. These were the words Marco had heard him described as, the perjoratives piling with each passing year and no _father figure _(Giani's words).

But good God, anything had to be better than this. In Aunt Giani's and Uncle Timon's the atmosphere was as stifling as a wet camel blanket. He could hear uncle Timon snoring in the other room. Soon Aunt Giani would wake up and start doing her exercises. _Then it would be too late. _

As the bells sounded five the eastern horizon started glowing; the blue hour was on the way.

_Fuck it. _Marco hopped down the window and trotted toward the pier, with nothing but his jewel lens, diamond, and sack of potatoes on a stick slung over his shoulder.

Niccolo and Maffeo had come running up the pier to meet the Marco, singing "To Jerusalem we Go!" Any doubts Marco had were quickly put to rest when they pushed off at first light, sharing a jug of ale. They'd headed due east for the isles of Greece. "And then to Jerusalem!" said Niccolo as set themselves to a breakfast of nuts and cheese. "You'll like life at sea, boy," Niccolo said. "It'll make a man out of you!"

Now here they were, one month later, in the inner sanctum of the Knights Hospitalier's Cathedral of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Over that time Marco had watched time and again as his stout, mischevious, ugly little father had opened one door after another which seemed impenetrably shut to them, sometimes with the sprinkling of "moon dust"; Niccolo's brand of powdered diamonds. But more often then not only a few choice words were needed. "We're not the pirates you're looking for," he'd intoned to the soldiers at Sudank, and it was all that was needed. The only thing Niccolo had made clear was that they'd been working as a some sort of foreign agents.

"We are on an official mission in the capacity of emissaries for his magesty the fourth Khan of Asia," he'd said their first night in port, unclasping a box made of cedar, lined with whale skin, then unfurling a gold-leaf scroll held within. Strange black runic scored the surface; a majestic seal stamped one corner red. "This will give us safe passage through the tent cities of the Golden Horde, so that we may get back with the holy oil in time to save the Khan's daughter."

Over the next two weeks they'd made for Jerusalem as fast as possible, Niccolo teaching Marco about ships and filling him in more with the story of the Khan's daughter. She'd fallen ill with a mysterious disease—"carried by wild animals," which could only be cured by the oil of the lamp of Jerusalem. But when Niccolo said it there was little concern or pity in his voice-only excitement at getting his hands on the oil…


End file.
